


Bijoux

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Collars, Cousin Incest, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Submission, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, mild breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros sneaks over to show off his work and be taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bijoux

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for chachisteacup’s Fingon/bottom!Maedhros D/S or breathplay prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Findekáno had first choice of bedrooms, but that was as a child, and since then he’s found better places to occupy his time—his father’s sitting room, for example, has far superior light for reading. After he’s finished his daily training and filled up on fluffy foods, he lounges back along a sofa pushed against one of the tall windows, curtains drawn. The evening light is dying down, but it’s more than enough to make out the letters filling his newest volume. Every member of his family has their own business to attend, but he’s only made it seven pages in before the doors open, drawing Findekáno’s attention.

Maitimo steps through the entranceway, flashing an automatic grin. Findekáno returns it instantly and drops his eyes as Maitimo turns to shut—and bolt—the door behind him. Findekáno’s gaze travels down the crimson folds of Maitimo’s silken robes, cinched tightly at the waist but otherwise hanging delicately off the round indents of all his muscles. It’s oddly elegant for him; he often comes in trousers and tunic, sword ready for a round. 

He carries no weapon today, and instead drifts gracefully across the floor. Findekáno greets, “Nelyo. I am pleased to see your father’s newly tightened watch has not held you back.”

Maitimo’s smile is thin but telling. He purrs in return, “Nothing could stop me from coming to my beloved cousin.” He reaches the sofa by the end of his words, and there he lowers demurely to the floor. Kneeling at the side, he reaches for Findekáno’s hand, draws it to his lips, and places a chaste kiss over the back. A subtle shiver spikes up Findekáno’s spine—the familiar pleasure Maitimo’s mere presence brings him. 

Something new sparks a different interest. Pulling free of Maitimo’s grasp, Findekáno’s hand pushes forward to brush aside the long waves of copper hair that cascade over Maitimo’s shoulders and obscure his neck. A thick collar of glimmering silver, embedded with blue sapphires, wraps tightly around his throat. While Findekáno traces a single golden swirl adorning the right side, Maitimo asks, “Do you like it?”

Findekáno answers, “It is beautiful,” even though everything looks that way against Maitimo’s freckled skin. It takes Findekáno a few seconds to absorb all the little details of the elaborate neckpiece, and then he asks, “Did you make it?”

“Yes. Every so often I must push my abilities at the forge, so as not to have my younger brothers usurping me.”

Findekáno laughs, and Maitimo smiles in response, though his statement was said kindly and held no jealousy. Findekáno still insists, “You will always be the greatest of them, my Maitimo.”

Quiet and under his breath, Maitimo murmurs, “Yours indeed,” but then replies more levelly, “I am no longer so sure of my measure amongst them, but it matters not—I had other motives.”

“I do note the colour choice. Silver and blue, instead of the gold and red I am used to seeing from your father’s forges.” The symbolism isn’t lost on Findekáno.

Amusement flickers in Maitimo’s eyes, and he playfully asks, “Does it remind you of anything?”

If his uncle were anywhere near, Findekáno would never answer truthfully. But with neither of their fathers around to separate them, Findekáno admits knowingly, “My father, actually.”

Maitimo’s smile broadens. “Good; it fulfills its purpose. Although I wound a string of gold around the side and engraved your name on the inside to clarify exactly which of Ñolofinwë’s house I am bound to.”

Now Findekáno is smiling as wide as Maitimo, a blush threatening to stain his cheeks. He’s flattered and warmed by it, the thought of his name _pressed against Maitimo’s skin_ warming his whole body. Because their conversation has thus far been light and teasing, when he regains himself, he only muses, “Your father must not have liked that.”

Sadness comes into Maitimo’s eyes, but the smile doesn’t drop, and he softly answers, “No, he did not, and that is only for the colouring—I would not be so foolish as to show him your name.” He pauses, then sighs, “I love my father dearly, you know. But this did make it all the more difficult to sneak out this time.”

Even though he knows, Findekáno asks, “Why go through all the trouble?”

Now the worry in Maitimo’s face leaves, twisting again into a coy delight, and he leans forward against the sofa’s side to purr, “To show my devotion, of course. I may be my father’s heir, but I am _your_ creature.”

Findekáno snorts, meaning to laugh more heartily, but finds himself a little hoarse already from the thought and muses, “It is a pet collar, then.” When Maitimo only smirks for an answer, Findekáno leans forward and bends down, reaching to peck Maitimo’s speckled forehead and brush red bangs aside. He purrs, “What a pretty pet you make, too.” Maitimo seems to preen, arching all the closer, long lashes lowering over already dilating eyes, cheeks just a fraction darker than usual. Findekáno slides his hand along Maitimo’s cheek, idly thumbing his soft skin and tracing back through his hair. “I confess, I am unsure of what to do with such a beautiful treasure...”

Maitimo tilts his head enough to brush his lips over the heel of Findekáno’s palm and answers, “Whatever you wish. I am strong; I can bear it.” Findekáno recognizes the familiar invitation to be _rough_ , and he can’t help the flicker of curiosity. Perhaps the tightening of his father’s reins, brought on by the ever-growing tension with Findekáno’s own father, has pushed Maitimo, and his fire’s been flamed just a little too high, and he needs a new master to conquer it, conquer him, someone besides Fëanáro to hold him down. It’s a role Findekáno’s all too happy to play. 

Lightening fast, Findekáno’s fist jerks back into Maitimo’s hair, tightening swiftly in a bundle at the back of Maitimo’s skull. Findekáno wrenches it backwards, forcing Maitimo to gasp, head snapping up, long neck pulled taut and fighting against the collar for a sudden bought of breath. Findekáno holds it, and Maitimo is good and still in Findekáno’s cruel grip. Enjoying a moment to appreciate the awe-inspiring beauty kneeling at his feet, Findekáno leans in again to brush his lips over Maitimo’s. Maitimo keens and tries to lift up, to press back, but Findekáno holds firm. He noses his way along Maitimo’s flushed cheek and tilts Maitimo’s pretty face, until he can nip at the shell of Maitimo’s delicate ear and sink blunt teeth into the sensitive tip. Maitimo’s moan is instant and shamefully filthy. Findekáno knows all the spots that weaken him. 

Findekáno tugs at the point with his teeth, waits until Maitimo’s breath is ragged, and then settles back into place along the sofa. He jerks Maitimo up by the hair, and Maitimo obediently rises. He’s lead right across the sofa, pulled forward, and his fluid body, as trained as Findekáno’s in combat, moves easily to straddle Findekáno’s lap. The moment he sits, the plush curve of his full rear settled atop the growing bulge in Findekáno’s trousers, Findekáno rocks his hips up. Maitimo grunts and lets himself be bounced upwards. Findekáno rolls up again, then again, pulling Maitimo into a steady rhythm of sensually grinding hips. Maitimo has danced in Findekáno’s lap many times and knows just how he likes it. Findekáno’s length hardens more and more from it and digs eagerly between Maitimo’s cheeks, but for now, the fabric separates them. 

It won’t be for long. Findekáno starts with the sash at Maitimo’s waist, now understanding the choice for such flimsy clothing: ease of access. Findekáno rips the sash away all in one movement, tossing it aimlessly aside, and Maitimo places his hands on Findekáno’s shoulders and obediently keeps riding Findekáno’s crotch, allowing Findekáno to do as he will. Findekáno next slips his hands between the opening folds of Maitimo’s robes, presses his palms flat against Maitimo’s tight stomach, and runs upwards. He lingers over Maitimo’s firm chest, flicks his thumbs over Maitimo’s brown nipples, strokes the dip of his collarbone and reaches the collar again. It sticks out garishly against the simple robes and Maitimo’s bright hair and darker colouring. It’s also clearly a work of exquisite craftsmanship, and Findekáno silently decides that he’ll allow that—and only that—to remain on Maitimo’s supple body.

Taking hold of the neckline, Findekáno pushes the robes down Maitimo’s shoulders, which draws the middle wider, until the folds covering Maitimo’s lap have completely swept aside. He wears nothing beneath, to Findekáno’s immense satisfaction, other than a tiny, white gem nestled between his folds, clamped by silver clasps around the nub of his clit. The particular piece is new, but not unusual, and Findekáno, as always, enjoys the eye-catching sight. He pauses in his work to _stare_ , but that only makes him hungrier, and finally, he finishes wrenching off Maitimo’s robes. Maitimo lifts only long enough for Findekáno to throw the excess fabric from the sofa, and then Maitimo drops right back where he belongs and resumes wantonly grinding into the outline of Findekáno’s cock. Findekáno places one hand on Maitimo’s trim waist and presses the other between Maitimo’s legs, his palm fixing against the moist warmth of Maitimo’s lips, fingers wrapping beneath to rub between his cheeks. Maitimo shudders, breath catching again. Findekáno strokes him for a few minutes, enjoying the way Maitimo’s body trembles in his grasp, and then he notes, glancing up, “You always come to me wet, my Nelyo. I am very lucky.”

Maitimo chuckles, “It is not difficult,” and bends down for a kiss that Findekáno pulls back from, holding Maitimo at bay, just to hear his sad keening noise. Findekáno isn’t quite finished his job. As pretty as the jewel fixed to Maitimo’s pussy is, it’s something they’ll probably lose when things get heated if Findekáno isn’t careful, and that’s not something he wants his father to find rolled under the couch on another day. He tugs the little ornament free to Maitimo’s short cry, then places it in the breast pocket of his tunic. He’ll have to remember to return it later, but if he doesn’t, at least he’ll have an excuse to visit his pet in the future. 

Maitimo now properly stripped, Findekáno grabs another chunk of Maitimo’s hair to yank him down, forcing a bruising kiss. He can feel Maitimo gasping against him, lips parting wide for that purpose, but Findekáno uses the excuse to thrust his tongue inside and do a quick circle of Maitimo’s mouth. The taste is something he misses every day that they’re apart. Findekáno keeps Maitimo’s bottom lip in his teeth when he pulls away, tugging it, and then he twists and shoves Maitimo abruptly off him.

Though Maitimo could likely catch himself in time, he lets himself be thrown to the floor. He rolls onto his back and subserviently remains there while Findekáno surges off the sofa and onto him, encasing his body in a heartbeat. On hands and knees, Findekáno grinds his body down into Maitimo’s, crushing him against the hard stone floor. Maitimo gasps and reaches up to thread his fingers through Findekáno’s dark hair. His breathing is ever more erratic, and Findekáno pulls back to look, alerted by the frantic sound, at the way Maitimo’s neck flutters against the thick collar. 

Though Maitimo is a skilled smith and would never make such a mistake, Findekáno says, “You may have made your collar a little too tight.”

Maitimo doesn’t look the least bit worried, just flushed and hungry, and he lies prone along the floor as he murmurs, “I know how you like to see me breathless.” Findekáno’s lips twitch in a smirk, Maitimo’s quickly mirroring it.

Still, before he goes any further, Findekáno runs his fingers along the side of the collar, forcing beneath Maitimo and tracing the back to make sure he knows where the clasp is and how to remove it if it becomes too much. Satisfied with the simple mechanism, he returns to the moment, flattening Maitimo to the ground with another hard kiss that Maitimo eagerly returns.

Up on his elbows and vaguely still on his knees, Findekáno keeps one hand in Maitimo’s hair—it’s one of Findekáno’s favourite features of his gorgeous cousin—and the other runs its way down Maitimo’s body, curving around his hip and running through the short hair between his thighs, dipping beneath to the soaked lips that wait for him. They seem to grow wetter by the minute, more so when Findekáno rubs at them, his fingers playing expertly with the plush slit. He presses his middle finger in between, wriggles about to find the inner hole and add a second finger, then scissors them open to stretch Maitimo’s tight channel, while his finger toys with the exposed tip of Maitimo’s clit. Maitimo writhes beneath his touch, moaning into his mouth and clawing at his back, clutching at the fabric still there—he still wears his clothes because it’s another edge of _power_ , and there are few thrills as great as truly _dominating_ Fëanáro’s eldest son. It’s part of why Maitimo’s so wet for him, Findekáno knows; for all of Maitimo’s fire, his spirit, his might, he _loves_ to get on his proverbial knees for his lover, though sometimes their games flow the other way around. There are times, when Findekáno was much younger, that immortality seemed a daunting prospect, but the thought of sharing eternity with Maitimo, of experiencing such _pleasure_ , and experimenting, growing, finding new ways to express their ever-bright connection, is a wonderful promise. 

Findekáno plays with Maitimo’s body for as long as he can stand, and then being _apart_ is just too much. He stops, ignoring Maitimo’s irritated whine, to fiddle with the tie of his trousers, then quickly has himself out, already achingly hard. He draws his veiled tip once down Maitimo’s folds, then diverts his hand to stretch Maitimo’s hole apart with his fingers and press against it. With one quick shove, he pops inside. 

Maitimo cries out instantly, deep voice higher than usual with the bliss of it, and he arches up, head tossing back and flat chest grinding against Findekáno’s. Findekáno wraps his free hand around Maitimo’s waist, forcing him to stay arced off the floor. Findekáno presses forward a little bit at a time, then starts to rock back and forth, squirming deeper and easing shallower, while Maitimo pants beneath him. Halfway inside, Findekáno pauses to spare Maitimo a kiss, but then can see that Maitimo needs air too much, and waits instead while Maitimo adjusts, pushing slowly in. When he’s fully sheathed, he pauses, giving Maitimo time, and nudges at the side of Maitimo’s face. Maitimo tilts dutifully away, giving Findekáno room to run an open mouth along the smooth expanse of his neck, stopping at the top of the collar, and working back up to nip at his jaw. Maitimo’s struggling to breathe, but Findekáno knows his limits and knows to allow it. When Findekáno bites the shell of Maitimo’s ear again, Maitimo cries out: ready. 

From there, Findekáno snaps to life. He pulls half out to slam back inside, using all his might, repeats it, and pounds Maitimo hard into the floor, loving the way Maitimo’s plush rear flattens and bounces back into him, legs spread wide to take him, ankles coming to rest at the small of his back. Maitimo’s pussy, wondrously tight and searing hot, squeezes at him, the pressure rapturous. Findekáno litters his face in kisses, and every couple thrusts, seals their mouths together, stealing away what little air Maitimo can manage. Maitimo moans between all his gasps, clinging desperately to Findekáno’s tunic. Findekáno claims him with just as much desperation.

The beat of it is steady, not by design but because Findekáno goes as hard as he can, as fast as he can, every thrust, determined to bury himself in Maitimo’s perfect body with as much force as he can manage. He’s relentless, brutal, knowing that Maitimo is as much as a warrior as himself and can take it, _loves_ it—several times, Maitimo tries to say Findekáno’s name but never gets more than a few letters out—it doesn’t matter; Findekáno knows the sentiment. He can read it in Maitimo’s eyes. He says for his breathless lover, “ _I love you_ ,” and _means_ it, brands it into Maitimo’s flesh with every kiss. He takes Maitimo with everything he has.

He takes Maitimo for as long as he can. He’s quickly skirting the edge but holds back, wants this to last, always does, and he likes to make Maitimo comes first—loves the loss of control and the giddy scream and the way Maitimo’s handsome face contorts during orgasm. No matter how rough they play, Findekáno is always a generous lover. Maitimo deserves that much. Findekáno slams into him over and over, deep and rolling, grinding into it, filling Maitimo’s tight channel and dragging the base of his cock against Maitimo’s clit and kissing all the right spots along his neck, face, ears. He rubs Maitimo’s nipples raw between their bodies and crushes Maitimo’s trim waist against him. He drives into Maitimo until Maitimo _screams_ , tensing suddenly. His face twists, mouth opening wide, nose scrunching, eyes falling closed and brows knit, and his pussy convulses fervently around Findekáno’s cock, the wet squelching sounds of liquid bubbling up mixing with the slapping noise of fabric on skin. Findekáno fucks Maitimo right through it, then a few thrusts after, even as Maitimo pants terribly loud. Only a few seconds later, Findekáno follows with his own cry, bursting inside Maitimo’s body. Maitimo clenches deliberately around him, helping to milk it out. 

And then Findekáno is hazy, spent, boiling hot but coming down, and heavy. He needs that split second, then lifts up on his arms, knowing Maitimo needs the space. Maitimo looks close to passing out, and Findekáno presses a kiss to his forehead whilst reaching under to pop open the collar. Findekáno leaves it lying there against Maitimo’s throat, but it’s enough that Maitimo’s posture eases somewhat. While he’s still breathless, Findekáno muses, “You will have to make me a matching bracelet sometime.” Maitimo smiles but can’t seem to answer yet, and Findekáno fills that quiet by petting fondly though his hair. 

When he’s recovered enough, Maitimo lifts up to kiss Findekáno. It’s sweet but lingering, and Findekáno keeps the kiss going while he lifts up to draw his cock out of Maitimo’s body. He can feel Maitimo’s wince at it and can both hear and smell the slick trail of seed and other juices he drags across Maitimo’s thigh. As they part, Findekáno asks, “Must you go?” Because Maitimo usually does, and that’s a crushing reality after the joy of their love.

Tonight, with the sky outside transitioning into dark and stars, Maitimo sighs, “That depends on what my master demands of me.”

Findekáno grins but still points out, “I have already removed the collar.”

“That is true.” Reaching for it, Maitimo lifts the heavy metal to turn and press against Findekáno’s neck instead, not wrapped around but held against the front. “Perhaps I shall be the one to make demands—and my first is that you take me to bed.”

Laughing, Findekáno rewards him with another kiss. Another follows, then another. Eventually, they find the strength to rise. They wrap themselves in their clothes and leave the sitting room together, jewelry in tow, ready to face whatever consequences their undeniable bond requires.


End file.
